Well, I just got back from a short, short trip to the grocery store. For anybody out of the Pacific Northwest, and you know who you are, we had a major snow dump today. I shoveled
about six inches off the top of my little red sports car. I know that's not much to my McCall
and Sun Valley buddies, but trust me: it's all I want.
In the space of less than 10 minutes, there were oh-so-many drivers who were driving too
fast for the conditions, but then their moms and dads did raise idiots.
Another poor soul got caught too far into the traffic on the downside of a little ramp—couldn't back up. I was on a major artery and he snarled traffic for blocks. Most other drivers were gracious enough to let him back on the road. I was still in a reasonable frame of mind. Everybody else was too.
Then the nincompoopery took over. A young man in a big, big rig hit the center lane where all the slush was, and that flipped up and covered my windshield and I could not see a daggone thing. That reduced me to a whole series of words I haven't used — or heard—in years. Not in my family. Not in my work. Certainly not in my church. Apparently, there are some things you never, ever forget.
He was one of those yoyos who didn't stop and apologize for the danger he was putting other
drivers in. I've relegated him to a sub-status, several degrees lower than chimps, dogs, cats, and pigs. Maybe ever lower than crows on the IQ scale.
I'm 65, not 5'2" tall. Any man who is afraid of me is a world-class coward. We would have
had a discussion about exactly which IQ points he was missing. I was not in a peaceful, forgiving, understanding frame of mind.
What a dismal sot.